Hi everyone! Welcome to my new story, From the Other Side. This is something I've never done before... it's Dark!Hermione... but it has a twist. I'm rather excited about it! It's seriously dark at times so if you're for real under eighteen you need to leave. If you don't want to read non-con, you might as well just turn around now. If you don't want to read about your favourite beloved character getting gruesomely murdered... just save yourself the time and go read something else.

If you DO want to read those things than please continue on reading, you brave, brave soul, and let me know what you think!

I'm doing things a little bit different this time. First off, I don't have this story even close to completion - crazy, I know. It's longer than anything I've ever written (I mean... way longer) and I just ran out of patience for posting. As of right now I have about fourteen chapters written, but I'm throwing out a guess that it'll be about 23 ish chapters long - ten pages a chapter. Phew.

I'm going to post new chapters based on the reviews I get... I feel a little gross doing this because I've never been an author who has demanded reviews BUT I've been told time and time again that my stories are ridiculously under-reviewed, so this time you guys are going to have to work a little bit for the updates. (Hint: I've even, for the first time EVER written a sex scene, so it'll be worth it to get your chapters!)

A huge thanks goes out to my seriously awesome beta - now if only she had an account here... I'm wearing her down though, and to a friend of mine, KomeKozzy425 for all her late night brainstorming sessions with me where I just text her 19 times in a row with ideas and she doesn't yell at me for being annoying. She also named this story, by the by.

Anyway! Enjoy. Don't forget to review.

Prologue

Hermione stood perfectly still while looking out of her grimy bedroom window on the third floor of Grimmauld place; her reflection staring back at her with sad eyes as she tried to see past them to witness the thunderstorm that was raging outside the glass. She had been doing some serious thinking and knew without a doubt that she was going to defect. She was tired of this damned house and its horrible occupants, tired of being treated horribly and kept indoors, and so fucking tired of being screamed at by people she used to consider her friends for no damned good reason.

Hermione had developed a dirty feeling deep within her soul; a dirty feeling formed slowly over time as she witnessed the real way that the Order of the Phoenix dealt with things that they found unpleasant and unsatisfactory – it was nothing like she had expected when she was still a school-girl. She'd been misled and mistreated on more than one occasion, but it hadn't become totally clear to her until she'd gotten into a huge fight with Harry a few evenings before. Hermione realized only a few short months in to serving the Order of the Phoenix after Hogwarts that she had been misled – a few months of sitting alone in the house while everyone else attended raids and did reconnaissance missions. She had been banned from leaving the property, no, the house, the moment she stepped inside it. She didn't quite realize how far downhill her treatment had gone until she'd stood on the opposite side of the scrubbed kitchen table from Harry. The tendons in his neck were straining and a large vein in his forehead was looking close to destruction as his eyes blazed while he screamed at her. Screamed, in front of the entire fucking order because she'd used her words stupidly about a matter that had been bothering her conscience since she'd first heard of it.

She thought someone had to bring up the treatment of their prisoners, the way that Senior members of the Order killed first and asked questions later, and the way none of them could even fucking see that they were losing themselves wholly to the evil they were supposedly trying to fight.

She was sick of it. Sick. She was tired of being trapped in this goddamn hell-hole of a house and tired of being treated like some sort of servant. After she thought about it she realized it was incredibly reminiscent of her school days. It had been her responsibility to go over Harry and Ron's school work to ensure they passed, and now it was her responsibility to go over their horrific battle plans to ensure they won. At least in school she felt appreciated for the effort she put into keeping them safe, alive, and passing. Now she got screamed at if something didn't turn out perfectly, even though she wasn't even allowed to join the stupid fucking missions, so it's not like it was even remotely her fault if something didn't go as planned.

She was twenty years old and hadn't left the house in over two years – she was an unwilling captor of the light and she wanted out, out, out! She had come to that startling conclusion the weekend before, and once it burrowed itself into her mind she was unable to get rid of the thought.

Yes. She wanted out.

Hermione Granger wasn't staring blankly out the window of her tiny bedroom in Grimmauld Place – no – Hermione Granger was planning her escape. The house had blood wards and so many protection spells once she left she'd never be able to get back inside unless she had help, but that wasn't a worry – she was never fucking coming back to this house once she was gone.

She wasn't surprised that the thoughts running through her head nearly paralyzed her with fear, but she knew, without a doubt, that she couldn't stay in Grimmauld place one day longer. She was done, so fucking done with these people and their ways. She was done living under Harry bleeding Potter's thumb!

She was Hermione Granger, the brightest fucking witch of her age, and she was done letting people decide her life and fate for her!

If the Order of the Phoenix wouldn't make her feel wanted, needed or let her fight – let her out of the goddamned house, even?

She'd find someone who would.

Hermione had been living the last two years in captivity because Harry and Ron didn't want to 'risk' her being out in the open when there were Death Eaters at every turn. Hermione wasn't sure if she completely believed that the Death Eaters were out in such forces, but she had no proof otherwise and Harry and Ron seemed incredibly sincere while trying to convince her of the danger when they had first arrived at headquarters.

In the beginning she had fought her two friends tooth and nail to be let out of the house. She had done everything in her power to ensure them that she was powerful and would be fine, that she needed to fight to feel as though she were contributing, that she could fight – and could do it a hell of a lot better than one Ronald fucking Weasley. She probably knew and could perfectly execute more spells than that moron could even fucking dream about, but somehow she was the one forced to stay inside, stagnating, while the red-headed wonder was out doing missions far too dangerous for him.

She'd fight them, but then Harry would turn to her with his emerald eyes downcast and mournful, his lips pulled down into a pout that, when he was really determined, was accompanied by a trembling chin and explain to her that he just didn't know what he would do if she were to be hurt or killed.

Only a couple of weeks, they had told her, let us assess the situation and then you'll be free to do whatever you want, but please, for Harry's sake, stay inside where you'll be safe.

They'd love to find you alone in a raid, Hermione, they'd told her, you're the epitome of Muggleborn and exactly the type person Voldemort wants to eradicate.

Let them try, she'd answered, knowing her strength in magic would help her immensely. Let them try to attack me, Harry! I'm stronger and would kill them for even so much as looking at me cross-eyed.

He's specifically looking for you, Hermione, and you don't understand the type of spells being used. Avada is child's play compared to some of the things going on out there and he wants to kill you, you specifically - nothing will stop him from doing it if they find you. You're strong and he knows it – you'd ruin everything he's been trying to prove about Muggleborns! They'd insist once she started demanding to join raids.

Knowing Voldemort was specifically hunting for her scared her effectively enough and kept her quiet for at least four months but then that fear had passed. She'd spent many nights awake reading over every goddamned spell book she could get her hands on and then she'd plead to have her freedom again, even asking for something as little as sitting in the square across the street.

Her pleas fell on deaf ears.

The things her so-called friends did while they were raiding had slowly made her decide she didn't want any part in their "raids". They were insane and barbaric, especially one Ronald Weasley. She had come to the terms with the fact that he enjoyed destroying people, guilty or not, in a way that did make the Unforgiveable curses look like child's play.

She'd heard them speaking about it on more than one occasion, often enough to understand that her once gentle and somewhat clumsy friend had crossed the line completely and had teetered into the realm of sadistic.

"Good job out there, Ron," Seamus Finnegan said admiringly as everyone who had been part of the raid that night tromped into the kitchen. Hermione could tell they'd all already been tended to by the Healers on the first floor judging by the scent of potions in the air, the funky coloured substances smeared on some of the men, and the bandages covering some of their heads, arms, and shoulders. Harry had limped in last, being held upright by Neville Longbottom, and Hermione couldn't even fucking bring herself to ask what had happened. She truly just didn't want to know.

Seamus made his way to the large cooler in the corner of the room and started passing out muggle beer to all the men who had joined him in the kitchen. The Order had been getting groceries in muggle London for over a year – it was much safer than trying to buy anything in the Wizarding World since the Death Eaters had taken over Diagon Alley.

"Did you see it, Harry?" Ron asked, his face glowing with pride as he casually held onto the neck of the bottle of beer between his index and middle fingers. Hermione jammed herself in the corner of the room, reluctant to be there and even more so to be seen by that fucking psychopath. The look on his face bordered on deranged, his eyes wide - somewhat shiny, and his lips split into a grin that could only be described as eerie.

He looked around the room and his eyes landed on Hermione, causing her to squirm somewhat and cross her arms tightly across her chest in a defensive gesture. Ron watched her too closely most of the time and it made her nervous; she didn't want to attract his attention in any way, shape, or form, and whenever he did look at her he'd lick his lips unconsciously and watch her movements with narrowed eyes.

"No," Harry said, lifting his leg tenderly and resting it on a chair opposite, a look of pain tightening his features for a moment before he sighed in relief and turned his full attention to his ginger haired friend. Ron's eyes skittered away from Hermione and he met Harry's gaze as the raven-haired wizard asked, "What happened?"

"It was so awesome," Ron started, excitement making his voice come out an octave higher than usual. "A huge Death Eater was coming straight for me, grinning madly as he brandished his wand. I knew he was going to hex me with something truly evil– it only took me a split second to decide what spell to use. His mask fell off when he shot his spell, but I dodged it, and judging by the colour it would have been truly horrific. Anyway, as I dodged I screamed my curse and watched as it hit him square in the chest – he dropped like a sack of shit and I couldn't even hold in my laugh at the look of shock and fear on his face. I walked right up to him, not scared at all, and looked in his face, watched his eyes until the full effect of the curse hit him. His eyes widened almost comically and then he exploded, his entrails shooting out everywhere and barely missing me. It was great."

Ron laughed and smiled for his entire story, and at the end he released a sigh, almost like he was reminiscing about time spent with a fucking lover, or something pleasant instead of watching someone explode. Hermione felt sick.

"Who was it?" Harry asked, and Hermione knew it wasn't because he felt even the slightest sliver of remorse – no, he wanted to know who's name he could cross off the fucking pathetic list they had of known Death Eaters and who got the kill. They'd even gone as far as to colour code it – each man was a specific colour and whenever they'd killed a known Death Eater they'd highlight his name in the proper hue.

It was truly disgusting.

"No idea, Mate," Ron answered, so flippantly that Hermione wanted to scream and scream and scream.

She'd always thought that the point of the Order was to capture as many Death Eaters as possible, but keep them alive and put them away in jail. Not murder. This was not what she'd signed up for.

"This wasn't supposed to be a raid." Hermione said seriously, jumping to her feet so quickly that the bench she was sharing with a few other members slid across the floor loudly, scraping across the stone and jostling the other members sitting upon it.

"We did what we had to do, Hermione!" Harry snapped at her, rolling his eyes at her like she was some sort of insufferable girl who just didn't understand what was going on in the real world. Dumbledore sat on Harry's right, his expression looking somewhat smug, in her opinion – almost like he knew what was going to occur before the fight had even started.

"Did they even have a chance? What did you fucking do, Harry?! Knock on the goddamned door and blow them away when they answered it, completely unawares what was happening?!"

"They were Death Eaters!" Harry screamed suddenly, losing control of his already unchecked emotions. He'd been slowly losing discipline over himself over the last two years, but Hermione knew when she saw the vein in his forehead start to throb that he was really going around the bend.

"They were Pureblood!" Hermione corrected angrily, slamming her hands down on the table in front of her. She was so fucking tired of hearing this from Harry, and if no one else was going to stand up for what she, they all, felt was right, then she'd do it herself.

"It's the same fucking thing!" Harry screamed, spittle flying from his twisting lips and landing on the table in front of him. His emerald eyes were blazing at her with pure hate, hate for daring to contradict him – the head of the stupid Order of the Phoenix. Dumbledore had 'relinquished' his title to his young protégé, but everyone knew he was still pulling the strings in the background. Harry went to him for everything, questioned him about everything and ran every-fucking-thing by the old man before any decisions were made.

"It isn't!" she insisted, looking around the table pleadingly, trying to meet even one person's eyes and receive their support, but she knew when the first three people she looked at avoided her gaze that she was in this alone. "It isn't the same, Harry, and I don't know why you can't see that! Just because they're Pureblood doesn't mean they're Death Eaters! Don't you see what's happening?! You're blaming everyone with a pure bloodline as being Death Eaters, even though we know there are families who just flat out refuse to follow them, but that doesn't matter to you! You kill them without a second thought just because it's what you feel is true and for whatever reason you can't see that you're becoming just as bad as Voldemort!"

She knew the second the words left her lips that she had crossed a line. Each member sitting at the table sucked in a harsh breath as Harry's face turned red and splotchy, his lightning bolt scar seemed whiter than usual and he seemed to be expanding with his anger. Her eyes skittered away from his and once again tried to meet with other members' gazes at the table, and this time she was somewhat surprised to see the glares being leveled at her. Molly, Arthur, Fred, George, Bill and Fleur were all watching her with narrowed eyes and pursed lips – their jaws clenched tightly. They'd been against Hermione for months now. Actually, she thought she'd slowly started falling out of their fucking favour only a few short months after arriving. Ginny wasn't ill toward her, but she wasn't supportive either. It wasn't just the Weasley family glowering at her, though, every Senior member of the Order were looking completely unimpressed with her.

"How dare you!?" Harry exploded, his hands waving around in the air as a testament to how out of control he was. "How dare you compare me to that complete bastard?! He killed my mum, Hermione, and my dad, and if your parents weren't obliviated and sent to Australia they would probably be dead, too! Look around you, you ungrateful bitch, and see how many people are in hiding because they're beyond terrified of that half-blooded fool out there, the man who kills and terrorizes just for thrills. He's out for Muggleborns because of their blood, Hermione, and you should be a little bit more concerned because you're the top of his list! Now get the fuck out of my sight before I remove you myself!"

Hermione desperately wanted to point out that yes, Voldemort was out to kill Muggleborns because of their blood, but Harry was killing Purebloods because of theirs.

She didn't, though.

Instead she stomped over the bench seat she'd been sitting on and stormed from the kitchen, slamming the door so hard behind her that the drywall cracked from the doorframe to the ceiling.

Prejudiced, the whole lot of them.

"We got him, Hermione!"

"Who?" she asked dryly from the kitchen table – she didn't particularly care who they'd murdered that night. It was always the same with them and she didn't want to hear the satisfaction in their voices when they told her about it.

"Oh," She said, she didn't want to hear the details and wasn't going to encourage them by asking any questions.

"He was just walking down a lane that we happened to be standing in. It wasn't planned or anything and he wasn't expecting a thing. It looked like he'd been buying potion supplies… shit, Ron! Why didn't we steal them?!"

Hermione had known for a while she wanted to leave, but she hadn't had any sort of plans until the night after the disastrous meeting. She'd been in the library, looking for the book that she knew had been in there at some point about Healing, but couldn't find it. She'd knocked down a stack of papers and was kneeling down, hidden behind the sofa, when she'd accidentally eavesdropped on a conversation that would change her life forever.

"Can you believe that miserable bitch?" Ron asked, and he sounded like he'd imbibed in a few drinks before the conversation had started.

"Well maybe if she wasn't so fucking uptight she'd get laid," Ron sniggered, and Hermione just knew, just fucking knew that they were talking about her.

"She just wants to go outside," Ginny argued.

"She can't," Harry snarled, "and you know why, so wipe that ridiculous goddamned look off your face, Ginny. I don't see why you're always trying to stick up for her and convince me to let her out of the house, but it's really starting to piss me off."

"I can't see how it would hurt to let her at least go into the yard, that's all I'm saying," Ginny answered crossly, and Hermione could just imagine her standing there with her arms wound tightly underneath her breasts, her dark eyes glaring.

"Ginny," Harry snarled, and Hermione peeked around the sofa to see that Harry had the red-haired girl's bicep gripped tightly in his hand, Ron was watching on with a disturbing look on his face. It made Hermione feel like Harry had been physical with Ginny on more than one occasion and that Ron would stand by and watch. "I've explained this to you time and time again! They've been looking for Hermione since the moment we graduated and they aren't looking to kill her. If she goes outside they'll be able to trace her with her wand, but she's inside the wards here and untraceable. I don't understand why you don't seem to get it!"

"I don't understand why they want her, Harry! Let me go!"

Hermione watched as Harry's hand gripped Ginny's arm even tighter, his fingers digging into her soft skin. He shoved his face forward so it was only an inch from Ginny's, and Hermione had to give the girl credit – she didn't back away or even flinch, but glared at the dark-haired boy with pure hate.

Hermione never expected the two of them to have a falling out. As far as she was concerned Ginny would follow Harry blindly into whatever he was doing, would follow him off the edge of a fucking cliff or into the burning fires of hell.

"She's powerful, Ginny, and they know it. She could be the tipping point of this goddamned war and she could help them! I already told you about the prophecy and if you forgot about it that isn't my fucking problem – she can't leave because if they get their hands on her everything I'm fighting for would be for nothing!"

"You're going about this wrong, Harry! You need to use her, to let her join you guys! You don't want her out there because you don't want her to suddenly learn what you're actually fighting for! You don't want her to see how things have changed out there!"

There was a slapping noise, and Hermione peeked around the couch just to see Ginny's face turned to the side, her hair draped over her shoulder and covering her face from Hermione's view. Harry's hand was raised again in a threatening manner and Ron was watching on, almost panting with the joy and pleasure about what was taking place.

"You won't hint anything to her, Ginny, or so help me."

"If I was going to try and inform her about all this bullshit I would have done it a year ago, Harry. Now let me go."

Harry let go of Ginny's arm and the girl shook it, flexing her fingers before turning away and fleeing the room. Harry and Ron both followed, heading in the opposite direction toward the kitchen.

So Voldemort wanted her for her power and would use her, would allow her to step one toe outside of the front fucking door. She'd reserve judgement on whether it would be a smart move or not once she arranged some sort of meeting with a contact – if Voldemort was as bad as she'd heard she'd be lucky to survive the initial meeting with him, but if she didn't, well, she really didn't have anything to fucking lose. So what? He'd kill her?

Maybe she'd at least get to find out what exactly Ginny meant when she said they didn't want Hermione to see what they were actually fighting for. Would see how things had changed out there. Maybe she'd get some sort of understanding before she was murdered.

Hermione turned away from the window and threw the remaining items on her bed into the trunk that stood open near the footboard.

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